There's always one-
The one who defines you,
Moulds you. Their memory
Often brings undoubtful
Joy, sometimes it strikes anger,
Or the reminder of their influence
Feels like a bullet in the heart.
Why are some important enough to
Be held so high in a person's heart?
The promotion of change.

A change that makes some fly
And in others, flood them with
Misery, woe and fear.
One change, a simple
Alteration of one's course of living,
Can sweep one so far away
From reality. Forcing the questioning
Of what is real- is anything real?-
Or to promote extreme giddiness.
Whether postive or negative
Can not be avoided,
Consistancy is impossible.
I do not understand
How these alterations,
Ripping all that we know,
Are not feared or approached
With caution. But one must
Think- is there really such a thing
As change? Or are what is
Registered as changes just
Fogging pretense, masking guises
Merely covering what we already
Know? I find that we are
All subjected to mind games
We inflict on ourselves.
There is no One.
Change is nothing but empty
Hopes and promises for a better
Tommorow or mental puzzles
Driving the weak mad.
We mould ourselves
We are what we are
Because we chose to be, no
Change can falter an
Entire life.